


knowing that you love me

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Starts out soft dom aziraphale and switches halfway, Top Crowley (Good Omens), sort of goes both ways in this one, very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: It's their fifth anniversary and Aziraphale has decided that this year, come hell or high water (to use a human phrase), he'll give Crowley what's coming to him.Namely, a great deal of kisses and as many orgasms as he can handle.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 528





	knowing that you love me

**Author's Note:**

> kink poll fill for august!
> 
> "tied up body worship for either aziraphale or crowley" and then some stuff happened as it is wont to do
> 
> straight up PWP folks. enjoy!
> 
> title from sweet by cigarettes after sex

“I think you could do with being a bit more still,” Aziraphale says, snapping his fingers and summoning a few of the garishly colored handkerchiefs from his magic act that he knows Crowley hates. 

It’s very pleasing indeed to barely see a reaction cross the demon’s face at the appearance of the red and yellow scarves. His amber eyes have gone slightly muzzy, distant, that way they do when Aziraphale has him good and pliable from plenty of kisses and his favorite touches.

It really is a treat to have Crowley laid out for him on their bed in the cottage. It's their fifth anniversary of saving the world which they celebrate a bit more than their actual anniversary. Mostly because they argue about what counts as the anniversary. First kiss is right out since kisses used to be de rigueur in greeting. First snog seems awfully gauche. Aziraphale refuses to celebrate the first time they went to bed together and first date hardly seems sporting since they’ve been dating for centuries and they both know it.

A thwarted apocalypse seems as good an anniversary as any. And while they occasionally indulge in some of these bedroom games, Aziraphale has decided that this year, come hell or high water (to use a human phrase), he'll give Crowley what's coming to him.

Namely, a great deal of kisses and as many orgasms as he can handle.

He pets his hand down Crowley’s flank, drawing the demon’s attention, his eyes finally falling on the scarves Aziraphale has left on the bed. He scowls. “What are those doing here?”

“You’re getting a bit handsy so I’m going to tie you up,” Aziraphale says matter-of-factly, gripping one of Crowley’s wrist and pressing it back against the metal headboard. Crowley makes a noise in the back of his throat that means he likes what Aziraphale is doing but would prefer not to show it. Being manhandled a bit is one of those things Aziraphale is trying to help Crowley admit to himself he is  _ very _ interested in. For now, Aziraphale relishes the little moments when Crowley’s control slips.

“You’re making me look like a clown, using those ugly things,” Crowley says, but doesn’t fight when Aziraphale presses his other hand back. The thin muscles of his arms flex as Aziraphale moves him and he can’t resist kissing the delicate inside of his wrist, the thin skin of his inner elbow, trailing soft kisses up his arm. It’s a bit silly really. Or maybe it would be if Crowley’s breath didn’t pick up, if Aziraphale didn’t feel how hard he was against his hip.

“A very handsome clown,” Aziraphale whispers into his ear before pressing a final kiss to the sharp corner of his jaw. He likes the scrape of Crowley’s stubble over the softer skin of his own face. Crowley likes his fashionable five-o’clock shadow and Aziraphale likes the way it feels when they kiss so he’s not complaining.

Crowley grunts, the effort of the sound expanding his ribcage once before it falls. Sitting back on his heels, Aziraphale considers his next move. Crowley really is laid out like a banquet before him. They’d done the kissing bit as Aziraphale had slowly removed his clothes, touching Crowley in all the places he liked best, a hand just above his hip, scratches between his shoulder blades, a kiss just above his collar bone. It’s utterly perfect and Aziraphale has just begun. 

Crowley is completely naked but Aziraphale has managed to stay in his boxers and undershirt so it’s easy enough to ignore the ache between his own legs as he traces the shadow where Crowley’s ribs fall to the concave of his belly. “You’re so beautiful.”

Crowley huff indignantly but says nothing. 

Aziraphale leans forward, ignoring Crowley’s straining cock, the way it drips onto his belly, and kisses where he has just touched. “My handsome,” he punctuates each word with a kiss, “darling,” Another kiss. “Boy.”

“Aziraphale, I swear…”

Aziraphale rests his chin on Crowley’s hip and traces shapes in his chest hair. “You swear what?” he asks innocently.

He can see lovely splotches of color rising on Crowley’s face, spreading down his neck and chest the way it does when he starts to get embarrassed and tries to fight it down. 

Crowley makes a gurgling noise, half broken electronic and half frustration. “I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

Aziraphale hums and kisses Crowley’s sternum. “I think your chest is beautiful. Did you know I always thought you looked lovely but when suits came into fashion it was awfully hard on me?”

“Hard on  _ you _ ,” Crowley grumbles, tugging at his restraints. When Aziraphale shoots him a look, he lays still. 

Aziraphale runs his hands down Crowley’s sides, filling his palms with the thin width of his torso. He can almost wrap his hand entirely around him, notching him into his hand. It makes his chest burn with a decidedly unangelic sort of possessiveness.

“The cut of the suits in the forties in particular,” Aziraphale says, releasing his hand and trailing his fingers up Crowley’s side. “Devastating.”

“Your shoulders looked so broad in those cuts and I remember, once, you came by the bookshop and took off your jacket. Your pants were high-waisted and you were wearing braces and I wanted—” Aziraphale brushes his thumb over Crowley’s nipple and it hardens visibly. Crowley sucks in a breath and it is wonderfully satisfying to see such a response. “Well, we’ll get to how much I wanted your cock in my mouth later, but first…”

Aziraphale scoots down the bed in what must be an entirely undignified move, but Crowley makes no mention, all his typical sarcasm seeming to have bled out of him for the moment. Running his hands over Crowley’s shins, Aziraphale relishes the tickle of his ginger leg hair. It is so soft, the skin under it cool. 

“And your legs,” Aziraphale says, tucking his fingers around the arch of one of Crowley’s feet. It must tickle because he jumps a little, a nervous sound escaping his throat. Aziraphale takes care to keep his touch firm as he bends Crowley’s leg at the knee and lifts his leg, hooking it over his shoulder so he can press a kiss to the bone of his ankle. “Such delicate ankles. Such pretty toes.”

He kisses the arch of Crowley’s foot and the demon lets out a sigh so relaxed that Aziraphale tucks the knowledge away for later. Perhaps foot massages (or other things) are in their future. He kisses his way up Crowley’s shin. He knows Crowley sometimes shaves his legs but he likes when he doesn’t. He likes the way the hair captures the delicate smell of his skin, the way it brushes over his mouth, soft.

He kisses the inside of Crowley’s knee, tonguing the slight dimple and hears Crowley hiss. “Sensitive?” he asks.

“Ticklish,” Crowley grates out.

Aziraphale nuzzles the spot and continues his journey upwards, mapping the lean sprawl of Crowley’s thighs with his fingers and then his mouth. He savors every indrawn breath. This is exactly what he wanted when he started out the night, when he asked Crowley to let him take charge for once. 

Aziraphale runs the back of his nails over the jut of Crowley’s hip bones. “And of course, your hips. I think you’ve always known what these have done to me.”

“N-no,” Crowley says between heaving breaths. Aziraphale loves the way his chest expands and contracts with his lungs, the beautiful movement of his angular body.

He sucks a bruising kiss into the crease of Crowley’s hip and Crowley bucks off the bed with a gasp. His cock bobs against Aziraphale’s cheek, leaving a streak of precome behind. Aziraphale ignores it. He’s certain there’s more where that came from and if he starts worrying about the mess now, he’s never going to get anywhere.

He grasps Crowley’s other hip to hold him down and laves his tongue down the carved indent of Crowley’s hipbone. Crowley shudders under the attention, moaning Aziraphale’s name. Aziraphale’s cock throbs in his pants and he allows himself to press down against the mattress once, just for a little relief. 

When he looks up at Crowley, he has fisted his hands in the scarves, knuckles white with effort. He could miracle himself free of course, but Crowley has always been a very good boy for his angel. 

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Aziraphale says, voice breaking under the weight of the gratitude— the joy rushing through him. 

Crowley’s back arches, eyes squeezed shut and he is so very beautiful. Carefully, Aziraphale wraps his hand around his cock, not giving him any friction, simply lifting it up and away from the flat of his stomach. Crowley makes a broken noise that feeds the possessive heated thing inside Aziraphale’s chest. He kisses Crowley’s belly button, kisses down the trail of hair that leads to his cock before pressing his tongue against the base of his shaft exactly the way that Crowley likes.

Crowley shouts and tugs at the scarves. The headboard creaks ominously but knows better than to bend.

“Angel, please,” Crowley begs. “Please. I want to be inside you. Please.”

Aziraphale sits up abruptly, surprised. He hadn’t exactly  _ planned _ for that turn of events but he’s certainly not opposed. “I—well, I suppose…”

Crowley looks at him with wide yellow eyes, cheeks flushed fetching red. “Let me make you feel good.”

Aziraphale’s heart bounces happily in his chest. Even after years of all this, of Crowley’s love and kindness, just simple words like that still bring him so much joy. “Alright,” Aziraphale says. He can’t help it. Not with Crowley looking at him like that. “Change of plans then.”

Without so much as a by your leave, Crowley’s free of the scarves and bearing Aziraphale back against the bed. They’re facing the wrong way with Aziraphale’s head back against the foot of the bed but Crowley is kissing him something fierce, tongue doing that slithery thing that makes Aziraphale’s bones turn to jelly so it’s very hard to care that there are no pillows. Not with Crowley’s hand cradling the back of his head, not with Crowley between his legs, rolling his hips slowly so that Aziraphale can feel every inch of him.

“Pants off,” Crowley says, scraping his teeth over Aziraphale’s pulse as he retreats and snaps his fingers. A bottle of lube drops onto the bed and he slicks his cock and then his fingers. 

Aziraphale tears off his undershirt and pants, very excited indeed. Crowley is in quite a state. Perhaps he should tie him up and tease him more often if he’s going to get all demanding like this. 

Crowley makes a noise of approval when he sees Aziraphale has removed his clothes. “I think we need to have a conversation about which of us is the pretty one.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to retort, but Crowley has wrapped his arm around his thigh and tugged him up, tilting his hips back so he can press two fingers into him. The stretch is immediate and has Aziraphale scrambling at the sheets which are already a right mess from their earlier activities. 

Aziraphale never needs much prep for this. Not that he doesn’t like it. But he also likes the way he can stretch around Crowley’s cock, slow and easy at first, before Crowley fucks him. 

“Hands and knees or on your back?” Crowley asks, pulling his hand free but he already knows the answer because he’s risen up on his knees and readjusted, pushing Aziraphale’s hips back slightly so he can press the head of his cock against him.

“Yes, like this,” Aziraphale gasps. He usually prefers hands and knees but he wants to see Crowley. He looks so lovely, a bit sweaty, hair messy and all over his forehead. 

The head of Crowley’s cock dips into him slightly, once, twice, before Crowley leans forward and he slips inside, hips moving shallowly as Aziraphale adjusts to the size of him. His stomach clenches and his back arches in that pleasure that’s kissed with the edge of discomfort he’s come to love. 

Crowley curses, long and low, and when he looks at Aziraphale, there’s a deep spark of love in his eyes, that utter disbelief that has never quite gone away despite their years together. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasps when Crowley finally sinks into the hilt.

Crowley releases Aziraphale’s legs around him and drops onto his hands. “I love you too.”

The pace is slow at first, drawing out Aziraphale’s pleasure, thick as syrup. He had expected hours of making love to Crowley, but of course, the demon had turned the tables on him. It’s when Aziraphale scrapes his nails down Crowley’s back and the demon keens, slamming into him hard and forcing a cry out of him that Crowley begins to fuck him. He can feel Crowley’s balls slap against his arse with each thrust, feel a spike of pleasure all the way down to his toes every time Crowley buries himself deep. His cock is untouched, jerking between their bodies with the force of their movements and it’s only when he feels himself grow close to the edge that he wraps a hand around his length to push himself ever closer, to heighten the delicious pleasure Crowley is giving him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps. “I’m going—Oh, I’m going to come.”

“Please, angel. Do it. Come on. Come for me,” Crowley says between his own gasps of effort. The room fills with the heavy sounds of their breathing, the wet sounds of their bodies moving together, skin on skin, and then Aziraphale comes with a shout, spilling over his stomach and up onto Crowley’s chest.

It rings in his ears and spins out in his vision as Crowley fucks him through it to the point of oversensitivity. His groans of pleasure take on a pained edge and Crowley pulls out. In a haze, Aziraphale feels more than sees Crowley come onto his stomach, their spend mingling together and dripping down his sides. He knows Crowley likes that. Marking him up.

A bit possessive, his demon.

Though Aziraphale thinks he understands.

They end up taking a very handsy shower together and when Aziraphale finds out Crowley had somehow hidden the fact that he had bought him his favorite black forest gateau from London, they have a very handsy, chocolatey time in the kitchen that requires a second shower. 

Which is all well and good because they end up on the couch, scrubbed clean, wrapped in blankets, sharing a slice of cake, a bottle of wine, and stories they both remember but love telling anyway. As far as apocalyptic anniversaries go, it’s pretty good.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/)


End file.
